Withdrawn

There he was

There is something seriously wrong with me. All I think about is things I shouldn't think about. Usually, it's a form of contraband. Drugs, sex, starving, men, women, cutting or all of the above. I'm an addict to anything that's bad for me but I just can't formally admit it. It's all I think about. The things I would do just for another taste. A taste of powder, herbs, pills, or sweet, sweet, liquid depressant. But most of all, a new story. A little taste of adventure is the only thing I want on my tongue. The best part is  that most of the time, it doesn't hurt anyone.

    Parties are simply my favorite thing because no matter what happens, you're fucked up and extremely entertained. My worst character flaw is that I'm absolutely reckless. Danger is some sort of perverted thrill for me. But it keeps me going. Sometimes drunken pity sex with a stranger helps more than shitty advice. Or even therapy, a general waste of time and money.

The only thing you really discover in therapy is how to breathe while using your fingers as a guide. I'm so glad I put thousands of dollars that I don't have into something that ended up being more pointless than marriage. Anything actually valuable I've ever learned was from my own mistakes. So far, it's been twenty-four years making the same ones.

My mother named me something really fucking dumb that will never suit me. Savannah Rose. What the fuck went through her mind? Did she expect some delicate flower to fly out of her vagina? It's a beautiful name, really... For a twelve year old girl who has devoted her soul to Jesus.

My mother was such a character. Just picture a cougar-looking housewife. She was nice, but subliminally kind of a bitch. She always made small comments about my body and encouraged me to go to the gym with her. Thanks for that one, mom. She loved her vodka. Good choice. She made up for the drinks sometimes by dancing with me to that one Fleetwood Mac song, and having long, meaningful talks. She's a bleach blonde, lipstick-wearing, Camel-smoking alcoholic wonder-mom. She certainly turned heads, but was always loyal to my father because, well, how could she not be?

My sister, Adeline was never too big on me or my brother, Colton. It could be from the age difference, or that she always looked down on us from her high horse. She preferred to act like an authoritative figure rather than having fun. Meanwhile Colton is my best friend. He has been since we were little kids, and he always will be.

"It's gonna be one-hundred-thirty-five dollars." said Zig. Zig is my main dealer. He's one of my greatest friends. The product is real, and uncut. Always consistent. That's what I love about him. He always has the best shit. I don't usually go for meth, but I hand him the cash and a little tip because my god, he is the most beautiful stereotypical, drug-dealing white boy I have ever met.

"Thanks, Zig." We exchange a secret handshake and a hug. I hurry to my car because winter is a bitch. Zig and I have been friends since we were eleven years old. Well, I was eleven. He was thirteen. His real name is Daniel. Daniel Carlton. I have always had a little crush on him, which makes me a good stereotype: the classic junkie in love with her dealer. He's different though. He's always protected me. He never knew how I felt and he still doesn't know. I've had a lot of flings, boyfriends, girlfriends, affairs, fuck buddies, and one night stands. But Zig is the only man I've ever really been in love with.

I drive home on icy roads while smoking marlboros. I know most people around my age frown upon cigarette smokers, but they're comforting to me. My father was a big fan of them. I was an even bigger fan of him. His name is Shawn. There's not really any sob story involving my dad. My parents got a divorce and he moved to another town, that's really it. My dad was possibly one of the greatest fathers on earth. He was everything to me. He made me feel safe. He was six feet tall, not very athletic, always wore those stupid dad shirts with dumb jokes on them. He smells like old spice and cigarettes with a hint of cologne. I was able to run to him every time I had I fight with my mother. I had great parents for the most part. But we all know they're not proud.